


Teamwork

by SnorkackCatcher



Category: Psmith - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 19:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnorkackCatcher/pseuds/SnorkackCatcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Psmith is engaged to fight a breach of promise case, but sometimes even a man of his talents needs a bit of help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teamwork

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chaletian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaletian/gifts).



> PG Wodehouse suggested that Psmith did not spend all that long as Lord Emsworth's secretary, but instead returned to the Bar and became a highly successful barrister. I'm happy to go along with that! This story is set in his very early days in the Law.

"Comrade Jackson! Well met at midnight. Or rather, if my watch does not deceive me, at about four o'clock. Do step inside the humble Psmith homestead, where you are of course always welcome."

Mike grinned. He was somewhat hazy about the hours that the courts kept and had not been at all sure Psmith would be home. "Bit of luck us both arriving at the same time. Is Eve in? Phyllis sends her love."

"I believe my true love is out having whatever is fashionable for women to have done to their hair these days done to her hair," said Psmith, ushering Mike into the drawing room. "But pray tell, how fares the Jackson family fortunes? I trust that the cows are in good health and producing milk by the gallon and not suffering from the botts, if indeed that is something cows suffer from. I confess I have never been entirely sure and would welcome instruction on the point from an expert."

"That's sheep," said Mike. "How's the law?"

"Alas, while the addition of the honourable name of Psmith to its ranks has conferred upon it an extra touch of distinction, it has provided little fame and fortune in return. Of course, thanks to the testamentary provisions of my uncle I am tolerably well provided for already as far as the doubloons and groats are concerned, but even a humble man such as myself would not object to a little fame coming my way. A reputation is a practical necessity for the poor barrister just beginning to ply his trade."

"No cases then?" asked Mike in sympathy

"Well, I do have one. In fact, I had some hopes that it might do me a bit of good. My client, Edna Merrick, is a charming young lady, a typist who has brought suit against her former employer Jermyn Bentley for breach of promise. Bentley is the secretary to an Admiral Williams, although it seems that the main reason for his rapid promotion among the ranks of our naval administration is a nice little sideline in the preparation of memoirs for those who find difficulties in such literary composition. My client was engaged by him to provide typing services, and after romance bloomed over the ribbons and carbon paper was also under the impression that she was engaged to be married to him. Until, that is, she received word that he had transferred his affections to the Admiral's daughter while working on the chronicle of the fellow's life."

Mike's eyes narrowed. "Is she well off?"

"Her father seems to have a reasonable quantity of the world's goods, yes. Also I understand she has a certain amount due to her in her own right upon marriage. It does seem -- although even now this is far from my favourite adjective -- somewhat fishy. Mr Bentley took the stand today to offer his explanation of the circumstances."

"I hope you tore into him." Mike said, accepting the glass Psmith offered him with a grunt of thanks.

Psmith smiled in dreamy recollection. "As it happens, I had scarcely begun my scintillating cross-examination when a note arrived by messenger from the Admiralty, asking if the judge would be obliging enough to excuse the gentleman currently on the stand, on the grounds that his presence was urgently required for an important conference. Indeed, from the style in which it was couched, it seemed certain that were the request to be refused, the Fleet would at once be thrown into disarray and England rendered defenceless to her enemies. No doubt we should find, were we able to inquire closely into the matter, that the First Sea Lord merely needed someone to supply refreshments to the visiting High Command of the Ruritanian Navy, but it certainly impressed the judge."

"What bally bad luck," said Mike with a scowl.

To his surprise, Psmith's smile merely broadened. "Yes, I'm afraid that my opposite number did rather draw the short straw there, much against his will. Frankly, the blighter's defence seemed so watertight I hadn't a clue where to start."

"What!"

"Yes indeed. Your humble friend found himself temporarily baffled, and a short respite until Monday morning was very much what the doctor ordered." Psmith gestured with his own glass. "Ah, when first I hung my hat in chambers, the cry flew round the Inns of Court: 'Psmith has finally arrived!' The grey eminences of my profession were on the edge of their seats. 'Surely he will be hot stuff?', they said to each other in hushed tones. 'Will his incisive interrogations not ruthlessly expose the villainy of those who have wronged his clients, and leave them squirming in the witness-box?' Frankly, as of even date the answer is 'no'. The grey eminences sink back in their chairs with an exclamation of disgust: 'Psmith has let us down. The amount of ice that he cuts in the courtroom would barely suffice for a decent gin and tonic. We will move on to better, brighter young men.'"

"You'll think of something," said Mike loyally. "He sounds like a complete outsider. I suppose he saw a better prospect in a rich girl."

"Very possibly, although she too is a charming young lady who made an excellent impression on the stout citizens of the jury." Psmith coughed delicately. "But I fear that my client is especially discomfited because -- in her own words -- she and young Jermyn anticipated the nuptials to a certain extent. I'm sure her meaning is clear to men of the world such as you and I."

Mike's face darkened. "Do you mean the bounder took advantage of the poor girl?"

Psmith took his monocle from his eye, polished it, and winced. "To be absolutely honest with you, from the look of wistful nostalgia on her face when she said it, I suspect that would not be a fully rounded portrayal of the situation. Frankly, I should say that she went about the thing with all the uncomplicated enthusiasm of a terrier chasing a cat up a tree, but still, one feels that men of spotless honour such as ourselves would not have made the request in the first place."

"I should think not!"

"But you see my problem. It's her word against his, and unfortunately she lacks the line-up of respectable witnesses that Mr Bentley can field. He was wise enough to insist on conducting this little _affaire de coeur_ well out of the public eye." Psmith made a gesture of irritation. "As far as I can tell, the only person other than Miss Merrick who knew was a close confidante from her schooldays, to whom she naturally told all. But she never actually met the blighter in question or saw them together except in passing, so her evidentiary value is limited. The cry goes round town: 'Psmith is outgunned!' Indeed, I would be pathetically grateful if I could bring to bear so much as a landlady complaining that the proprieties were not being upheld in her lodging-house."

"You could try asking them?" offered Mike. "You never know, they might have seen something."

Psmith shook his head mournfully. "Alas, that avenue has been explored and resulted in a dead end. Bentley rooms with a group of fellow workers at the Admiralty, who appear to have an effective mutual code of silence and a policy of non-observance that would impress even our old friends among the New York gangs. And Miss Merrick lodges with a woman who is as deaf as a post, a widow who appears to spend most of her time knitting socks for orphans. Or possibly an orphan who spends most of her time knitting socks for widows. Regardless, if she ever takes a break from this worthy activity long enough to poke her head out of the door and see what mischief her guests might be getting up to, she has I fear managed to miss the occasions on which Bentley was among those present."

Mike drained his glass and bit back a curse. "What are you going to do then?"

"Unless some relatively non-scaly idea presents itself for my consideration -- and be of stout heart, Comrade Jackson, I have faith in my talents, or failing that my star -- I am afraid I shall simply have to stand up when the meeting reconvenes and hope the chap slips up under close questioning." Psmith became grave. "It's not simply the matter of getting egg on my face that is causing me some discomfort. I have a tendency to express great confidence in my abilities -- you may possibly have observed this -- and rather went to town when describing them to Edna Merrick, in the hope of getting a crack at a case that would give a newly-minted barrister quite a leg-up in reputation. The fact is, though, that she has put her trust in me to win, and if I lose it will be a serious blow to her hopes."

Mike nodded in sympathy. He was far too used to his friend's studied flippancy to have thought otherwise.

"I understand she plans to start again in the colonies, where a young woman with a little capital and sound business sense could do very nicely for herself, so a suitable payment in this case would be of great value to her. Not to mention that one would dearly love to snooker Bentley for taking advantage of her, of course."

"I hope you do." Mike scowled. "Trouble with a chap like that, he'll probably do it again. He's probably done it before."

Psmith raised the monocle back to his eye and gazed at his friend with considerable respect. "Now _that_ is a very far from scaly idea, Comrade Jackson. Indeed, there are few occasions in my progress through this life when I have encountered an idea that less resembled a fish. I -- doubtless blinkered due to my happy situation of having fallen in love at first sight with my soul-mate and successfully won her hand -- had failed to consider that aspect of the situation. Comrade Bentley's memoir-supervising activities would certainly have required assistance from others before Miss Merrick, and doubtless offered many opportunities for a man of roving eye. This opens up an entirely new avenue for exploration. The question we have to consider at this juncture is, how best to explore it? I must confess that despite having typed the odd letter myself while acting as Lord Emsworth's secretary, I know little of the ways and means by which one normally secures a position in the trade. Have you by any chance had cause to seek the assistance of a key-tapper in order to handle the farm correspondence?"

Mike shook his head. "We don't get that much. Phyllis writes all the letters, anyway. Don't you have anyone?" he asked, surprised.

Psmith shook his head. "Alas, since the loss of my confidential secretary and adviser to agricultural pursuits, no-one has been able to fill the void. And while there may come a time when I need to employ a staff of a dozen merely to issue a polite _nolle prosequi_ to those whose request for me to take on their case I am unable to fulfil, that time has not yet arrived. At the moment, the correspondence of my humble chambers can easily be dealt with by the proprietor in the first quarter of an hour after his arrival. The cry goes round the clubs: 'Psmith's education is seriously deficient! He is not well informed on modern business methods!'"

"You'll need a good teacher, then." Mike jumped, and even Psmith started slightly at the sound of Eve's voice. They turned to see her standing in the doorway with a look of great amusement on her face.

"My dear?" Psmith said cautiously. "I wasn't aware you had returned. Of course, your presence brings light into my life whenever you do. May I say that although I do not know the name of the style in which your hair is braided, if indeed it has a name, it nevertheless makes you look a knockout?"

Eve rolled her eyes, although not without a certain pleasure. She walked into the room and shut the door behind her. "You really should have done _that_ when you came in. Not that I was actually _eavesdropping_ of course ... but, well, I couldn't help hearing what you were saying to Mike. Especially about me being the woman of your dreams."

"Comrade Jackson knows that I would tell him nothing but the absolute truth in such a matter," said Psmith gravely. Mike looked away in some embarrassment.

"Well anyway, you clearly need my help, or at any rate my influence." She seemed exasperated when neither man seemed to immediately comprehend her. " _Clarkie!_ As far as I can gather, half those employment bureaux compare notes on people who hire typists and what not, so they can tell if they're likely to cause trouble. If anyone knows where to find out what your man's been up to, Clarkie will."

"Another idea with a notable shortage of scaliness, I feel," said Psmith, who had brightened up considerably since Eve arrived. "So Miss Clarkson and her trade rivals maintain dossiers on those who offer to slip a few shillings in the way of the deserving worker, do they? I had no idea. Should I fulfil my ambition to cut much greater quantities of ice in the Inns of Court, I shall make sure to be on my best behaviour when selecting those I require to staff my office. One feels that the Tsar's secret service could pick up a few useful tips."

"More like the Black Hand," said Eve with a grin. "They operate by stealth. Unless they knew you at school, in which case you're one of the girls and they'll tell you anything you want to know. Shall we go and ask her?"

*****

"Comrade Jackson!"

"Hello, Smith." Mike's friend seemed more debonair than ever the next time he called. It struck Mike that he never had found out what had happened to the case he'd been involved with, and he felt a sudden burning curiosity. "Er, can I ask you something?"

"Anything, even unto half my kingdom, such as it is."

"How'd that typist thing go?"

Psmith smiled beatifically. "Ah yes. You will be delighted to know that the inquiries instituted by Miss Clarkson turned up no less than three young women with whom the industrious Mr Bentley had had a similar, ah, working relationship as that with my client, including the one who was currently engaged in typing the Admiral's reminiscences. Of course, as a man of chivalry I had no wish to embarrass his fiancée by bringing up the subject in open court, and I am glad to say that neither did he, although possibly his motives were less spotless than those of a Shropshire Psmith. However, when I broached the matter in casual conversation in a private meeting he quite saw the point, and agreed to compensate all four ladies for their wounded emotions provided that the case itself was dropped. This seemed to be a reasonably sporting arrangement that was acceptable to all parties concerned."

"Bit of bad luck for that poor girl he was going to marry, though."

Psmith shook his head gently. "Ah, but there I feel you may be underestimating the good Admiral. When he observed that the sudden ending of the case seemed to have brought little but gloom to young Jermyn -- as indeed it should, because we cleaned him out, as I believe the phrase goes -- he was able to put two and two together and institute his own investigations. Precisely what transpired, I am not sure, but last week's _Times_ contained an indication that the wedding bells would not ring out. As for Mr Bentley's position at the Admiralty, he has been transferred to some position well away from the hurly-burly of London life, doubtless for the sake of his health. I understand that he is currently inspecting the coastal defences in Hartlepool."

Mike grinned. "Nice work, Smith."

Psmith waved his hand in airy negation. "No, no, I feel that this was essentially a team success. A general is nothing without good staff work, and without the timely advice of my former confidential secretary and the energetic assistance of my helpmeet I would most certainly have struggled. The cry goes round London: 'Psmith does not stand alone!' And let me say," said Psmith, becoming serious for a moment, "I'm jolly glad I don't."

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies for the somewhat tellish nature of this -- I'd intended to expand it but was hit by various illnesses over the critical period.


End file.
